Back in Los Angeles, After the 40,0000 miles, six month walkabout, really worn out and wanting to settle back into the life I had left four years earlier; I was planning on finding work as an LPN in a hospital and "being normal" again.

After a month or so, of lying around friends' homes and college dorms, I felt it was time to rejoin the "real world". Cut my hair, got rid of the beard, bought some new clothes and quickly found a job at a hospital in the Los Angeles/N. Hollywood area as an LPN. Moved in with my father until I had a paycheck or two and could find my own place. But plans change....

This was December of 1973, the height of the first malpractice crisis in health-care. During my orientation at the hospital, patients were all but referred to as "adversaries". Once I began working on the floors, I was very aware of the part money played in the provision of healthcare to the civilian public. I was caring for folks who were dying and their main concern was how their hospitalization was bankrupting their family. I found myself reflecting on how, while military medicine had it's glaring faults, at least it was free to the consumer at the time of delivery. So, three weeks after my entry into the civilian nursing scene, I found myself talking to an Army recruiter about getting my old job back at Ft. Carson Hospital. A couple of days of phone calls and the deal was done. Raised my right hand, was given a couple hundred dollars travel expenses and four days, and with the weather gods providing good climate, I rode back to Colorado Springs. Same job, same ward, same coworkers as in the last May, prior to my departure. I figured that the US wouldn't be so dumb as to get into something like Vietnam again, very quickly. Lots of VERY surprised people. I, after all, had been so happy to get out after the last time around. Settled right back into the old routine; working night shifts so I could put in a lot of time on the hotline. I was somewhat more socialized this time around, so I didn't leave town every weekend.

Started to get into the social scene that was BMW of Colorado Springs. It was one of those wonderful "owned by riders, run for riders" sort of places. Doc set aside a corner of the shop for folks to work on their own bikes, even providing a chest of tools for that purpose. Coffee was always on, donuts every Saturday morning, beer runs in the afternoon were not unheard of. The local club sort of withered away because it was kind of unneeded, the shop WAS the local club. I continued to rack up miles, with runs in the mountains and trips to visit friends who were finishing up their college days and starting working, still in the LA area (I was the only one to escape, among my circle of friends). After a few thousand miles, Strider fairly quickly developed a smoking problem. New rings and guides would probably cleared it up but I opted to go first over pistons and not worry about it, at 75,000 miles.

Half way though my three year enlistment, I was able to arrange a "stateside swap" and relocate to Letterman Hospital, in San Francisco's Presidio. Within a month, I had transplanted my routine; working at night, volunteering at the Haight-Ashbury Switchboard and the H.A. Free Clinic in their Rock Medicine section, providing medical coverage at Bay Area rock shows. LOTS of ridings possibilities in the new location, and the miles piled on. Half way through this 18 months of San Francisco, I married a lady from Colorado Springs. The tours were mostly of the West and Midwest, by the time I ended this three year enlistment, in January of 1977, I really was done with the Army. We planned to hang out and travel until the fall, when I was going to go to Lane Community College in Eugene, Oregon to get my RN We returned to Colorado Springs, rented a falling down house on the edge of downtown. I was on unemployment and volunteering full time at the hotline, my wife was taking a couple of classes at the local community college. A very pleasant spring..... As soon as it was warm, we shoved off on a mini-version of the Long Trip, from May to July. This trip had a deadline, however. The National Rally, in 1977, was here, in Colorado Springs, at the Flying W Ranch. Doc knew his shop would be overwhelmed around the time of the Rally and he had offered employment, of a week or so, to a couple of his regular, mechanically adept, customers. So, I needed to be back in the Springs by Rally time. This mini-Long Trip was far less eventful, with visits to old Army friends again, sightseeing in National Parks and a longer visit to Washington DC. Tricky Dick was gone and the vibes were definitely more hospitable. The one real adventure consisted of being struck by lightning as we rode into a squall line on the Beltway around Indianapolis. We'd just started being rained on, so, best I can figure, the charge passed from helmet to wet outer clothing to the splash of the wheels and to ground. It was like a giant fist to the top of my helmet, blue fire and ozone was the world for a moment. Didn't go down, but had to get off at the next off ramp to collect myself and calm down a near hysterical wife. A quart of Rebel Yell we had collected in the South helped that process along nicely. We were still a little shaken when we arrived for my brothers' wedding in rural New York. A quiet week of camping and good times there helped recover from that traumatic near miss. After the wedding, it was a fast tear back to put in my week at Doc's BMW of Colo. Springs during the Rally. After that, we would move to Oregon to start school. We had, in April, already taken a van load of our belongings to Eugene and stored it,pending our arrival in late Jury. Strider was now at 115,000 miles. But plans change.......

To be continued... Matt Parkhouse